Contributed by Caitlin M.S. Buxbaum
The spider that I didn’t kill
came skittering after me —
wary, I watched it cross the sill
wondering why I let it be.
My husband isn’t Buddhist
but he tells me not to smite them —
those bugs, the universe will miss,
he says, though I don’t quite believe him.
So here the speeding spider stays
creeping around in the dark:
it lurks in bookshelves, doorways,
corners, waiting for its mark.
O why did I let you live
to terrorize me so?
Why, such mercy, did I give
to you, my undeserving foe?
Who knows now where you lie
to frighten and dismay,
but if I spy you with my eye
you just might die today.
